Losing Control
by littledarkone
Summary: A darker look at Angel’s desire to be beautiful. written for speedrent. CollinsAngel.


"Can I take your order?"

Maureen looked up. "Yes, I'll have the soy burger with a side of salad and fries, and a glass of beer please." Joanne ordered likewise, as did Mark. Roger got the tofu dog and salad with fries, as did Mimi.

Collins put the menu down and looked up at the waiter. "I'll have the double veggie burger with extra onions and pickles, with a side of large fries, and a beer." He looked over at Angel, who was still staring at the menu and chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I'll have, um. A side of small fries and a diet coke, please. On second thought, lemme have water instead." She looked up and smiled.

The waiter finished scribbling down their orders and picked up their menus, walking off to fetch their drinks. Conversation started again, starting as a low rumble and growing to a loud ruckus. Eventually the waiter returned and divvied out the drinks mostly beer, save for Angel's water and hurried off to get their food.

"So Roger, how are your endeavors on writing a song coming along?" Mark asked, sipping his beer.

"Okay I guess," Roger mumbled. "I've got a few ideas, but writer's block is still killing my brain."

"I'm surprised you can think at all, boy," Collins commented with a sly smile. "From what I've heard, you've been spending practically the last three months holed up in Mimi's apartment, doing God knows what."

"I'll bet I know what they're doing," Maureen laughed. Roger flipped them both off and the group burst out laughing. The waiter returned with their food and, after a slight mishap with Joanne's order, they began eating and talking as before.

Collins looked over and saw Angel picking at her food, moving it around her plate with her fork and not really joining in conversation as per usual. He leaned over to her.

"Aren't you hungry? You said you were starving when we left the loft. How come you ain't eating anything?"

"I am eating--"

"Fries and water don't count as a meal, Angel," Collins interrupted.

She shrugged, and smiled. "I dunno. Maybe I'm getting sick. I don't really feel hungry anymore."

"Bullshit," Collins growled. "You're always hungry. You must eat, I dunno, a hundred times a day. But I've noticed lately that you ain't eating as much. What's up?" Angel shrugged, but Collins persisted. "Tell me, or we're going home. Right now."

Angel looked up, angry, but saw the worried look on Collins face and sighed. "You don't... you don't think I'm fat do you?"

Collins stared. "Fat? Fat? Are you kidding me? You're one of the skinniest people I know, 'cept for Mark or Mimi. What could've ever made you think that?"

Angel shook her head. "Never mind, forget it. I was just being stupid." She smiled at him. "Don't worry about it." She took a fry, smothered it in ketchup, and shoved it in her mouth.

"That's my girl," Collins laughed, leaning over and planting a loving kiss on her cheek. She grinned like an idiot, and downed half of Collins' mug of beer in one gulp.

-------

Collins awoke later that night. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the clock. 2:47. He groaned and rolled over, searching blindly for Angel, but she wasn't in bed. Confused, he sat up and stared around the darkened room. He saw a sliver of light coming from the bathroom across the room, and heard what sounded like a gagging noise.

Fear gripping his chest, he shot out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. It most definitely sounded like someone was being violently sick in there.

Maybe she really was sick, Collins thought. But somewhere, deep in his mind, he knew that wasn't the reason. He knocked softly on the door. "Angel, baby? Are you okay?" He heard a small gasp, a cough, a flush, and the door opened. Angel poked his head out. He was out of drag, his usually colored face unusually pale and with a thin sheet of perspiration on his forehead. Collins saw the toilet behind him had its seat up, and a folded towel was placed next to it.

"Oh my God, Angel," Collins pushed himself into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. Angel was shaking slightly and seemed to be having trouble breathing. "Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need to see a doctor?" A million things were rushing through Collins' head, but the predominate one, and scariest thought, was 'Oh God, please please don't let him be dying, please God please...'

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Angel said softly, allowing himself to be held for a few more moments, then pushing himself out of Collins' embrace. "I just... must have eaten too much last night."

"Eaten too much?" Collins looked at Angel in disbelief. "You barely ate a fucking thing! Don't tell me you ate too much!"

Angel let out a dry sob and wrapped his arms around his frail body. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just please... please don't yell at me." A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away almost angrily.

Collins let out a frustrated sigh. "Angel, don't cry. Please. Just... come here." He held his arms out and Angel fell into them with practiced ease, his small body fitting perfectly in Collins' strong arms. He led Angel over to the bed and sat them both down, holding onto Angel tightly as his shaking subsided. "Now," Collins sat back and held Angel by the shoulders and stared straight into his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong."

Angel sniffed and looked at the floor. "I told you, nothing. I just woke up and didn't feel good."

"Didn't feel good? Do you have to go to a doctor? I'll take you down there now--"

"No, I don't need a doctor," Angel interjected, still avoiding eye contact with Collins. "I got everything out of my system, and I feel better. I'm fine now."

Collins tilted Angel's head gently so their eyes met. "Tell me what's wrong, Angel," he said firmly.

Angel shook her head, hugging himself tighter. "Nothing," he whispered.

Collins sighed and dropped his arms. "Angel, I love you, I really do, and I always will, but I can't stand to see you like this. And if you won't tell me what's wrong, well... I don't know what. I feel like you can't trust me. And it hurts, it really does, probably more than you know." He stood from the bed. "Get some sleep, you look like you're about keel over. I'll be out in the kitchen if you need me."

"Tom, wait--"

He almost stopped. Almost. The desperation in Angel's voice was almost too much to bear, but he knew Angel needed some time to gather himself together before he hopefully told Collins what was wrong. So, he left the bedroom and closed the door.

-------

Collins sat on the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of hot coffee splashed with vodka. He had wanted to make something stronger, perhaps pour himself a glass or two or three of Stoli, but he had to remind himself that it was three in the morning. Well, it's five o'clock somewhere, the thought to himself with a humorless grin. He sipped his coffee and leaned back against the cabinets. A small cough tore his gaze away from the interesting pattern on colors on the kitchen wall.

Angel was standing by the counter, a silk bathrobe covering his body and a pair of ratty pink slippers on his feet. Collins hopped off the counter and placed the mug on a coaster by a small potted plant. He stared at Angel expectantly.

"I, um." Angel looked down and scuffed the floor with his feet. "I just wanted to say that, um. I love you, and..." he trailed off as a tear escaped and ran down his face. "I l-love you, and... this is really h-hard to say, b-but, um. I figured it's t-time you knew that I... I think I may have an-an eating problem, a-and..." Angel covered his face with one hand and let out a sob, falling against the counter for support.

Collins was by his side in a millisecond, holding him, touching him, kissing him, whispering "It's okay I'm sorry I love you it's okay don't worry shh shh it's okay..."

Angel buried his face in Collins' chest and cried for what seemed like an eternity. "I don't know how it started," he whispered when his sobbing subsided, his voice hoarse and choked. "I was looking in the mirror and... I dunno, I just couldn't stop thinking how fat I looked in my skirts. I kept thinking, "I'll bet Mimi is so much skinnier than me" and wondering how she had so much control over her body, considering she eats like a pig." He let out a dry laugh.

"Then it came to me - I could just stop eating, it isn't seem so hard, people do it all the time. Then you noticed and... I got mad. I was mad that you were trying to get me to stop having control over the only thing I could have control over. Then I thought, if I couldn't stop eating, I'd get rid of the food. So, after I was sure you were asleep, I went into the bathroom and made myself throw up. But you caught me." Angel looked up at Collins, his eyes red-rimmed and wet. "I'll bet you think I'm disgusting now, and don't want anything to do with me, huh?"

Collins swallowed. "You know I could never think that, Angel. I love you, no matter what. I don't understand how you could possibly think that you're fat, because you're not. You're not," he repeated firmly when Angel looked away. "You're beautiful, you're gorgeous, and the sooner you accept that fact, baby, the happier you'll be. Trust me."

Angel gave him a watery smile and hugged his tighter. "I love you, Thomas Collins."

"And I love you, Angel Dumott-Schunard. Now, how about I whip us up a couple of chocolate-chip pancakes."

Angel kissed him lovingly. "I think that's a great idea."

**FIN.**


End file.
